


==> Sollux: fall

by chlorinetrifluoride



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Bipolar Disorder, Depression, Humanstuck, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-12-29
Packaged: 2018-01-01 06:02:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1041203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chlorinetrifluoride/pseuds/chlorinetrifluoride
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>it starts gradually, your descent, the month after you graduate from college.</p><p>your name is sollux captor, you live in a house with four of your friends, and you are losing your mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. monotony

**Author's Note:**

> i am trying to keep this as accurate in terms of symptomatology.

no textbook will ever do it justice, this cyclical oscillation, with stretches of normality that never last long enough. while both sides of the coin are shitty, you've come to realize that the blank desolation is always worse than the soaring ecstasy.

it starts gradually, your descent, the month after from college with a bachelor's degree in computer science. originally you mistake it for apathy, which wouldn’t be misplaced at this juncture of your life. you have left your ivory tower, moved into a house full of weirdos, most of whom you've known since high school, and neglected to start applying to graduate school. your days are predictable and monotonous, partitioned according to the times each day you have swallow pills to stop yourself from swan diving off the deep end.

8 am, awaken, take 300 mg lithium carbonate and 5 mg escitalopram, which swirly tattoo chick has left out for you along with orange juice and ridculously fluffy pancakes.  
  
4 pm, get out of geek squad gig at best buy, smoke cigarette right behind store, and wash down 300 mg lithium carbonate with a can of diet coke.

11 pm, stop pretending you give a shit about whatever romantic movie KK’s watching on netflix. go to your room and turn up the dubstep until you can no longer hear your thoughts or your friend’s brother bitching about the offensively heteronormative and white-centric nature of the romance in titanic. 

chase the last 300 milligrams of lithium with a beer and wait for your apathy to transmute into somnolence, usually by 2 am.

* * *

_fast forward a few months, to the day after after you decided to inhale something like forty miscellaneous pills with all the brandy KK had stashed in the cabinet (a lot). here on the inpatient unit,_ _they've confined you to hospital gowns at the time being, so you can't off yourself with anything you might have hidden in the clothing you arrived with. no glasses either, can't take the chance you'll stab yourself with them._

 _"how in the hell am i thupposed to thee?" you asked right after surrendering them._ _the orderly shrugged and informed you in a tone dripping with condescension, that the rules were the rules._ _ever the sharp one, you managed to sneak a look at the stupid DSM codes they have on your chart as they made you sign off on your treatment plan._

_296.53_  
 _Bipolar I Disorder, Most Recent Episode Depressed, Severe Without Psychotic Features._

_yeah, well, tell you something you don't know._

_it's the third of january, and you are here._

_you remember what GZ said to you on the last night you spent at home - "happy motherfucking new year!" - and think it particularly apt to describe your present situation._

* * *

the fall from baseline to psychiatric ward is deceptively slow, one whose progression you should know by now -  _it’s been nearly eight years since you started getting dragged from one therapist to another for what your parents initially thought were “those old teenage mood swings_ " - but can somehow never seem to pin down. this is not code. this is not rational. this will not compile if you drink enough monster.

this is emotion.

sometmes, it reminds you how the now the nights lengthen over the latter half of the year. nobody really starts noticing it until september, and it doesn’t become a serious problem until november. by then, it’s undeniable, and there isn’t a thing you can do to except wait for spring. rarely, if ever, have you gone to sleep perfectly content with your existence, and then woken up the next morning unable to get out of bed, thinking that you should have thrown yourself off the roof of the life sciences building while you were still an undergraduate. 

no, it's always too creeping and subtle for you to spot.

 


	2. introspection

like every other day you’ve had this september, today sucked. 

after work, while you sit in your swivel chair throne, you realize that moving into this hellhole was a terrible idea, like all of the other ideas you’ve had before. you have several housemates, all of whom are whacked out. not whacked out the way that you are, _well, maybe one or two of them_ , but still a little off. 

there’s KK, who can be a pain in the ass sometimes, but who puts up with your shit and lets you live here without paying utilities; K2, the self-righteous whiny bitch in a turtleneck who is somehow three years older than you; PR, your inked, pierced, mothering nag of a housemate and the keeper of K2’s leash; and GZ, your former college dorm suitemate, who doesn’t quite live here but has still  made his ass and bong a permanent fixture on the living room couch.

you suspect he’s allowed to live here by the great and insufferable K2 because GZ’s parents are loaded and he can afford to pay some ridiculous price in rent. K2 can pontificate all he wants about his pet issue of the day in his incomprehensible jargon, but at the end of the day, cash is still king.

* * *

KK invited you to live with him about eight weeks before graduation. this was back when you were in the throes of one of your three-week no-sleep must code binges 

—  _(this strange language that others have called numerical gibberish is sacrosanct each character positively gravid with luminescence and hidden meaning. you need to weave as many lines as possible from nothing must type to maintain the tempo set by your mind which keeps switching tabs_ ) —

and he was reeling from a bad breakup with his most recent boyfriend.

KK, who had been shaking since he got back from this date from hell, picked up his bottle of xanax - you know the rattle of pills when you hear it - and presumably shook one into his hand.

"yes, but never mind the asshole with the sunglasses, since i really don’t think you’ve been listening to me, you collossal tool." he sighed, and could sense his attempt to rein in the anger. he paused to dry swallow. "but what i’m gonna say next is serious."

you were willing to bet money that it was the beginning one of those revelatory “nobody will ever love me sollux,” crying sessions, which usually ended in the two of you having slow sex on your inkstained twin sized bed. you thought of his fists balled in one of your oversized t-shirts, and his chapped lips on your neck, and and bit down on the insides of your cheek, staring holes into your computer screen. the increasingly insistent part of you that sorely hoped for KK to put his hands on you - _please, god -_   was starting to scare you. 

however, without the barest break in the fluid movement of your hands across the keyboard, you managed to allow him a small part of your attention without betraying anything untoward. “and whatever would it be, KK?” 

"come live with me after graduation."

even despite the bees buzzing inside of your head, imbuing you with unnatural prescience, that actually caught you off guard.

"what?" you spluttered.

"the step-dipshit died last week, but like hell i’m going to the funeral with a fucking thesis project to finish. he left lord insufferable a house. pretty big, three bedrooms, two floors, y’know, right next to the mall."

 _funerals, yes. dead people. thing that is ordinarily bad even though KK cannot seem to give a damn. what do people say to this?_ you thought to wonder. you couldn’t figure it out so as you turn to him, you asked the first thing that comes to mind.

"you want me to move into kankrith houth with you?"

"not just his. mine. dipshit left it to both of us. cranky wanted to sell, but i thought, why not keep it and have you and maybe gamzee live with me there or something? it’s not like you really have anywhere else to go."

that last statement was a faulty supposition.

not twenty minutes ago, your fingers were flying across the buttons of your ancient blackberry, sending a text to AA, or rather, a slew of them. _you two should get an apartment together down in brooklyn,_ you insisted, _right across the bridge from the job she’d be holding as a TA for a geology class at a city college._  it’s the exact sort of gesture, practicality fused with sentimentality that you knew she’d adore. 

besides, it was only natural for you to share a space, given what you felt for her. together, you two could have become the axis upon which the world turned. but instead of sharing your enthusiasm, she replied that she’d have to think about it.

for an instant, a tendril of gloom wound its way around your gut, but released its hold before you could fully comprehend it.

 _yeah, you could move in with KK_ , you thought. _he’s right. this is even better._

"thith ith a terrible idea," you gave him an almost impish grin. "thure. why the hell not?"

* * *

here, in september 22nd, where the light in the room you share with KK is turned up to its highest intensity, here, where AA is not-quite-gone-but maintaining a safe distance because you shouted at her back in april and told her things you didn’t mean, here, where the fluorescents are burning holes through your skin, you listen to shitty dubstep and pretend you don’t hate yourself. 

crying is for weak little shits, and no matter how completely fucked in the head you may be, you will not capitulate. besides, KK always has this way of knowing, and he gives you these little looks as if he’s expecting you to elaborate.

_you have a diaphanous hold on sanity at the best of times. what more is there to explain? no you don’t want to talk about it, you spend an hour every week doing that._

besides, there’s nothing to talk about. you’re pretty much fine. you’re not manic anymore, so who gives a shit?

the area behind your scleras is searing, and all you want to do is take your hands and claw them out along with your jugular veins and be done with the whole thing once and for all, but who cares? you can resist the impulse. 

at that moment, the icon for your instant messenger lights up. through the ache in your chest, your heart hammers with anticipation.

it’s AA, finally, it has to be. she’s one maybe five or six people people you know who still use this client with any degree of regularity.

_[23:20] Porrim Maryam (gothicAlacrity) is now online._  
 _[23:21] Porrim Maryam: So+llux._  
 _[23:22] Porrim Maryam: Hey, So+llux._  
 _[23:23] Porrim Maryam: So+llux._  
 _[23:23] Porrim Maryam: Earth to+ So+llux Capto+r._

**no such luck.**

whatever she wants is probably going to be painful. along with KK, she’s another distinguished member of the “people who want sollux to talk about his feelings” association.

_[23:24] Porrim Maryam: This is becoming bo+thersome._

she has got to be fucking shitting you. 

 _[23:24] Sollux Captor: don’t even talk to me about bother2ome you iinfuriiatiing nag_  
 _[23:25] Sollux Captor: what the hell could you po22iibly want thii2 tiime of the eveniing, for the love of god woman iit’2 liike miidniight_  
 _[23:25] Sollux Captor: iif you’re 2o lonely, go bother K2 about 2econd wave femiinii2m or 2omething._  
 _[23:26] Porrim Maryam: …._  
 _[23:26] Porrim Maryam: So+meo+ne clearly isn’t having the best o+f days._  
 _[23:26] Porrim Maryam: Just wanted to+ say that I have a plate o+f fo+o+d and yo+ur evening medicatio+n in my hand, and that I tried kno+cking o+n yo+ur do+o+r, but yo+ur music’s up to+o+ lo+ud._  
 _[23:26] Sollux Captor: oh_  
 _[23:26] Porrim Maryam: But since yo+u’re clearly so+ engro+ssed in yo+ur nightly ritual o+f being an assho+le and blasting Skrillex, I’ll just leave it right o+utside._  
 _[23:26] Sollux Captor: fiine then okay whatever_  
 _[23:27] Porrim Maryam: Have a go+o+d night._  
 _[23:27] Sollux Captor: thank2 for telliing me 2o ii don’t 2tep on iit ii gue22_  
[23:27] Sollux Captor: and   
[23:27] Porrim Maryam (gothicAlacrity) is now offline.  
[23:27] Sollux Captor: you two.

the guilt hits you like a wave of nausea, or maybe it’s just actual nausea since lithium is possibly the most shit med on the face of the planet. you hold your head in your hands, elbows digging into the particleboard of your computer desk, and attempt to will it away. no such luck.

you dig a can of heineken out of the cooler KK keeps in the room, and take your lithium.

you could apologize if you want, PR’s the sole occupant of the room next to this one. GZ’s on the couch, communing with the dank, and K2’s down the hall, thank god. except when she’s entertaining and or having loud, wall shattering sex with AN in her room, PR stays up until around one, either planning lessons for her first graders or sewing something. 

you could apologize, except you don’t want to, because you’re not sure what you’d say.

_i’m sorry for getting pissed at you but sometimes you annoy the shit out of me._

no.

_i’m sorry for being a sack of shit who takes out their feelings on people._

that’s true, but fuck that.

all she’ll want to do is talk to you about it, as if you’re one of her dribbling six year olds with insipid, easily solvable problems. you settle for turning the volume on your speakers, so that if she’s doing something, it doesn’t bother her. at least that makes you less reprehensible.

when KK barges in an hour or two later, he looks as if he wants to say something to you, but almost instantly decides better. he boots up his computer, and starts playing halo 3, by the sound of it. he still keeps shooting you these glances, which you pretend you don’t notice, because if you do notice something, he’ll open his gigantic mouth..

you know what he wants, but airing out your emotions about your emotions seems antithetical to your approach, which is to ignore their existence until they smack you in the face. come to think of it, that might also be why AA dumped you.

fucking fantastic.

 


	3. verve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i meant to update earlier and then i got attacked by final exams  
> i'm on break until approximately february so fingers crossed i manage to finish this damn thing by then

at first, you’re excited about this burst newfound energy. maybe it’s the light at the end of the tunnel. your supervisor seems to think so at any rate. this is the go-getter he hired. other than the times you snap at the trainee, you’ve done a complete 180. 

KK’s a bit of an asshole at this point, keeps staring at you with one eyebrow raised while you prattle on, and asking if you’re still sleeping normally, which you pretty much are.

you lie in bed all night, eyes closed, gliding on an invisible wind from one train of thought to the next. sometimes they are resplendent and golden, but more often merely pensieve. you doze in shades of azure and fuchsia for a few minutes.

then, wake up. shower. dress. smoke a cigarette and shoot the bullshit with AN (and she shoots cannonball sized amounts of bullshit, you’ve noticed). go to work. come home. take beer. drink medication.

for the first two weeks of october, you function perfectly in this twilight state, fascinated and stimulated by all you encounter.

then, all of your emotions are too loud, when they come. iit’s so hard to keep everything down, to stop yourself from descending into uncertain paroxysms of laughter or sobbing.

you clean your room obsessively to quell the din. and clean. and clean. sometimes you stop cleaning to actually do what you get paid to, but then you lose track of where the lines begin and end. you don’t need to be wholly in control of your mental faculties in order to operate a vacuum or a mop, so here you are, staring at both.

_move all the furniture to_ _the middle of the floor. wash down the walls and wait for them to dry. move all the furniture back to its old place. cackle madly at the fwump sound the dresser makes when jostled, then feel guilty because what if you’ve just broken something of your roommate’s?_

KK watches you do this for a few hours without saying anything, which should constitute a red flag in and of itself. he’s got his arms crossed like he’s going to burst into lecture at any minute, and it really does remind you of K2, but he’ll throttle you if you say that. eventually, he just leaves, muttering something about needing to go to work even though work doesn’t start for ages.

so he’s avoiding you. what a fucking dipshit. just like you. the idea both annoys and amuses you.

_resume cleaning._

hours later, sweat dripping down your back, neck veins corded like telephone lines, you pause for a rest. except it’s not really resting, because you’re about to combine solvents so you can scour the upstairs bathroom until it sparkles, but at least you’re not moving anymore.

you can’t sleep so you might as well do this. when you try to sleep, all you see is AA, and she’s pissed. except not angry, never quite there, just disappointed. she smiles sadly, whispers meaningless phrases of reassurance, and tells you how getting some space will be good for the both of you.

this isn’t the first time you’ve heard that line. at graduation, the folding chairs are whiter than oblivion. you catch her eye although she’s rows away, and she waves.

and turns away.

you could call her, she’s even asked you stay in touch with her, but you won’t. there’s something gentle and sweet in her that you can’t bear to shatter. better that she get her space. better that she stop trying to fix you. better that she escape.

"you really shouldn’t mix ammonia and bleach," she says.

aware of your movements for the first time, you look down into the bucket, and see that  _yes, that is indeed a thing you were about to do, good job sollux._

"thankth aradia, i really am a fucking idiot sometimeth."

instead of a shoosh and a ripple of red hair, you’re face to face with PR, who wears a jade-green nightie and an expression of thorough bewilderment. she grabs hold of one of your arms and drags you - kicking and screaming - into your bedroom, which is now so fucking  _orderly_ that sleeping is going to be positively impossible. 

but the glass of wine she gives you, in conjunction with a benadryl that looks oddly like a fat beetle, happens to knock you right out.


End file.
